Coming Home
by apprentice wordsmith
Summary: On his first day back at Bag End, after a year in the wilds, Bilbo reflects upon the state of things. Short and sweet; no slash, sex, profanity, or violence.


The first rays of sunlight brushed his face and though still half asleep, Bilbo Baggins smiled. He hadn't been so comfortable since leaving Rivendell nearly a month ago. But now he was back, in his own little hole, snugged up in his wonderfully warm and soft bed. The only thing that was missing was the smell of bacon frying over a Dwarvish fire. And the thud of the picketed ponies' hooves as they stamped impatiently. And the whisper of grass tickling his nose. And the burble of a nearby stream as the water scampered southward over the rocks.

Oh, very well. He had enjoyed his Adventure, save for the scary bits. But it was good to be home, even if he'd arrived to find the place turned upside down. Many of the rugs were askew, most of the paintings still lay propped against the walls instead of hanging on them, and the case of spoons he'd removed from Lobelia's possession had been unceremoniously dumped upon the kitchen table, to be cleaned and put away later.

He'd been quite weary by nightfall the previous day. A few miles of travel was nothing by now, but to arrive home and find that himself declared dead and all his possessions being auctioned off- it was terribly distressing and sorting out the mess had taken all of his wits and energy.

A good night's sleep in his own bed had done much to restore his spirits, and as Bilbo rose and made ready for the day, he thought a cup of tea might be in order. He planned to work as only a hobbit could, making the hole fit to live in.

It was rather sad, he thought as he lit a fire and filled the kettle. Homes were meant to be lived in, and even his absence of a few months had left Bag End in a sorry state. Of course, having the neighbors tramping in and out, spilling his possessions out onto the lawn for their perusal, hadn't helped anything. Even without their- ahem- assistance, Bag End was damp and dingy. Bilbo was obliged to wipe an impressive layer of dust off the kettle before it could be used, and several spiders found themselves quickly evicted from the fireplace.

But tea was accomplished as swiftly as he could, and some toast from the bread that one of the neighbors had left for him. Not everyone had thought he was dead, and even some of the skeptics had been persuaded that he was, in fact, Bilbo Baggins.

"What a silly custom," he mused to himself. 'Declaring respectable hobbits dead after only a year. Why, that's hardly any time at all, and really not long enough to have a proper Adventure. I would have never returned in time if Gandalf hadn't been in such a hurry!"

But hobbits are fond of saying, 'What's done is done,' and now that Bilbo had successfully proven his continued existence to the rest of Hobbiton, he was determined to spend the morning on other, more important tasks. Like drinking his tea and enjoying the sunrise before he was obliged to become covered in dust and dirt while setting Bag End to rights.

It was to that end that he stirred a small dollop of honey into his tea and removed to the lawn. The garden bench could serve as both table and chair, and he smiled to see everything bathed in a warm pink-ish golden light. It would rain before evening, but Bilbo cared little for that, now that he was home.

For now, Hobbiton lay before him, clad in her autumn clothes. The hayfields were green again for a brief time before winter, the grain fields golden after the recent harvest, and the trees were only just beginning to turn yellow and red. Even having seen the wonders of Outside, the waterfalls of Rivendell, the vast forest of Mirkwood, the Lonely Mountain, there was something about the Shire.

It was restful, Bilbo decided, peaceful and calm. He sipped his tea and looked out over the valley. A few hobbits were abroad, tending their livestock, and several chimneys smoked gently in the dawn.

"A most pleasant place," he declared it softly. He had grown to love Adventures, but there was no place like the Shire.

The sun was now fully up, streaming through a wispy cloud. Bilbo's teacup was empty and it was time to go work. He rose and turned, laughing at the mark of Gandalf still upon his door, then went inside.

It was good to be home.

oOoOoOo

A/N: There have been a lot of changes in my life recently (got engaged, moved across the country, etc.) and I'm still finding my feet. So as usual, I give my problems to characters, and make sure they have a happy ending, in anticipation of my own happiness. Bilbo is lucky, to come home to a calm and serene place after his Adventure, and I hope my own will end as satisfactorily.


End file.
